To Refuse A Kind Hand
by MariellaSara
Summary: One Christmas Eve, a real Christmas Carol comes true for Neville, who's freezing in the streets. At least that's what it seems like, at first. But then reality comes crushing in, and nothing is the way it's supposed to be...


**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I got the title for this story from the most wonderful** _IndependenceIndividuality_.** Thank you!

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**To Refuse A Kind Hand **

by Mari

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I'm naked, and I am lying in Luna's bed. 

She's in the bathroom, undressing. I feel very awkward. More than awkward. I want to get out of here. _Now._

You know, I don't say anything against her wanting to have children. For all I care, she can have a whole herd of them. It's just – what the hell's it to do with me?

We haven't seen each other for years – not since I left Hogwarts. I should have listened to Grandma, when she told me to get a job at the Ministry. But no. I had to open my own business, against all odds. I failed. Just like I've failed everything else in my life.

Grandma didn't want to take me in when all my money was spent. She made it quite clear that she was disappointed. My parents would also be very disappointed, would they still notice anything going on around them. Where else should I have gone? I didn't have any other family left.

Friends, you say? I didn't have any friends. And even if, I would've been too proud. I've never been somebody to beg for help. I'd rather suffer silently than speak up. And see where it got me.

In the streets.

I soon started smelling of alcohol. What else was there to do, after all? The Leaky Cauldron never missed the bottle of Butterbeer or five I was nicking from there. I found an old guitar in a dark corner, carelessly thrown away, two strings missing. Still, it was better than nothing. I made up songs and played something on the guitar, just to do something. I lost myself in the songs, I could forget all my misery in these off-tune melodies.

One day, a Sickle landed in front of my feet when I was trying to find comfort in my melodies. I suspect the person just wanted me to stop playing. But it gave me an idea. Why steal when you could earn your money with honest work?

I placed my old Hogwarts hat in front of me on the dirty street, a bitter reminder of the dreams I'd had then, back at Hogwarts, when everything had still been all right. It reminded me of the life I could've led, of the love I could've received, if only I'd let her.

But no. I'd always run away. And what else was I doing there, on the streets? Running away from all the things that could have been but now never would be, from fond memories of happy school days.

Instead, I buried myself in the dark memories of the bullying, the names I'd been called, even Malfoy's cold drawl. They comforted me, in a weird, distorted way. They made me remember what I'd always been, and always would be. There was no escape for me, no longer.

I don't know how long I was out there, I stopped counting the days. Sometimes it was colder, sometimes warmer, I didn't know anything besides that. When I found old _Prophets_, I read them, but who knew how old they were when I found them. The date could've been the week before, or two months ago. I didn't care.

Herbie let me sit in front of his shop sometimes. _Herbie's Magical Herbs_. His shop was what I'd always wanted to have, so I sat there and smelled the herbs and the fresh earth in which the plants were potted. They were making fun of me, pointing at me, showing me what a loser I was. Herbie had managed what I'd never have.

From time to time, he came out and sat down on the stairs, talking to me. Good man, Herbie. Still, he had to send me away eventually. I was bad for business.

I got to know Diagon Alley and all the other streets surrounding it better than I'd ever thought I would. I knew every corner, and I sat somewhere different every day.

Sometimes, former dorm-mates or other friends from Hogwarts passed me by with their families or colleagues, all of them looking happy and successful. I'd just lower my eyes and try to be invisible. Most of them didn't see me anyway. Actually, none of them ever saw me. Why should they give the drunken beggar a second look? If I'd been in their situation, I wouldn't've acted differently.

Today was no different. I sat in Djinn Corner, in front of a second-hand bookshop. Across the street, some children were singing Christmas carols. Was it Christmas Eve already? I shook my head in disbelief.

Earlier that day, I'd seen the Creevey brothers walking along, joking. None of my other friends would come here. After all, here were the second-hand shops. None of them would ever buy their stuff here.

Next to me, in the snow, there was a little snowman. I'd built him around an empty bottle of Firewhisky. His name was Bob. Quite a nice fellow, Bob, though sometimes it looked like he was laughing at me – much like Peeves, back at Hogwarts. I was glad I wasn't drunk enough to hear Bob talk to me. I'm sure he would've been very mean.

I had shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my old cloak that was way too short by now. My gloves were ragged with use and had holes everywhere. I'd cut off the finger tips. That way, I could hold the cigarettes easier whenever I managed to steal one.

I'm busy staring at Bob, daring him to say anything, when suddenly my life is turned upside down.

Brightly polished boots appear in front of me, and I wait for the clinking sound of coins in my hat. I suddenly notice that one boot is green and the other one is red – and are that little snitches on them? Before my brain has managed to grasp what that could mean, somebody's sitting right next to me in the snow.

"Hello, Neville," she says, as if it's the most normal thing in the world to find a former friend begging in front of a bookshop specialized in trashy romance novels on Christmas Eve. She beams at me, and I notice her eyes are still the same bright silver that had always made me feel uncomfortable. Now, it's strangely comforting.

Of course I remember Luna. It's hard not to. And anyway, she is one of the best-known witches these days. She's in the _Prophet_ all the time, detecting that the Minister of Magic has a secret private army of Heliopaths, proving that the Curly-legged Crisper exists, and what have you.

"They sing very nice, don't they," she adds in conversational tones, pointing to the children. I don't trust my voice at all, so I just nod silently.

Luna gets up and slowly walks over to the children. She listens to them for a while, then gives them some money. I reckon she can afford giving money to a lot of people, if you can judge her income from the number of her appearances in the _Prophet_.

"Want some tea?" she asks when she comes back, and offers me a hand.

And now here I am, lying her bed. I still don't quite know how I came here. She must have drugged me with tea. Tea! It must've been ages since I last drank tea. For a long, long time, I haven't drunken anything that doesn't help you forget.

Afterwards, she somehow must have convinced me that having sex with her was a good idea, with that strange, twisted logic of hers which you just can't escape. Nothing she says exactly makes sense, and yet, in the end you feel it's the most logical thing you've ever heard. It probably also didn't hurt that I'm drunk from a bottle of Firewhisky stolen only this morning.

I'm trying to remember where exactly the bottle's content went – surely I didn't drink all that by myself? – when the bathroom door opens. My brain, already slow to begin with, stops working entirely.

Luna steps out in a thin, silky robe, looking breathtakingly sinful. I gulp and feel very unworthy. Suddenly I realize I have an unhygienic beard all across my face, and my hair is a mane of shaggy unkempt something that hasn't seen a brush for months. It doesn't help that I smell strongly of alcohol, either.

Her wonderful hair falls past her waist, and it's slightly damp and curls up at the ends, and I can only stare and I've never seen anything so beautiful in my entire life and my mouth refuses to be closed. I haven't seen a woman like that for way too long, and the last time I did, it was only a cheap prostitute who smelled of too much perfume.

But this is Luna! And she is at the same time so much the Luna from school and so entirely different, so grown up and _sexy_ that I can feel my lap getting ready for going on a camping trip in a matter of seconds.

There's something in her posture that hasn't been there at school, something very strong. She's so sure of herself now, it's almost frightening. In my confused state, she looks like an angel, with a warm aura surrounding her. I want to press her to my chest, cuddle her like I'm a small child, to try and get at least a little spark of that golden something for myself. I'm desperate for her.

She's coming directly towards me, and I try to scramble backwards, suddenly afraid, but there's only the wall and I can't escape and I'm frightened and glad at the same time and I _want_ her, I want her so badly it almost hurts.

And then she's there and pulls off the robe and I almost cry because that's got to be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and I'm so not worthy of all that beauty.

She smiles slightly, mischievously, and whispers, "Do you like what you see?" And she makes to kiss me, but I push her away. Her eyes snap open, and her eyes look just as hurt as they did five years ago. In a split second, everything comes back to me, and I'm even more determined that I'm doing the right thing.

I know I've hurt her. She looks like I just physically hurt her. Maybe I did. After a moment's hesitation, she still tries again, lends forward and softly presses her lips to mine. I almost give in. I want her, oh Merlin I want her so much.

I push her away again.

Something in her eyes cracks. I hate myself for doing this to her. How horrible it must be, to be rejected yet again, twice, after such a long time. I know I've ripped all the old wounds open. I can't help it.

"Luna." I try to make my voice sound soft and caring, but I'm helplessly drunk, and it's more slurred than anything.

She just stares at me, not moving as much as the tiniest muscle.

"I… – you… – just… – oh, fuck." I take a deep breath. "This won't work."

She continues staring. She hasn't blinked once since I started speaking. It's starting to make me uncomfortable.

"Just – let it be. Okay? I'll just take my clothes and – leave." I pause. "I… jeez, Luna, I don't _want_ to do this to you. To me. If only you knew how much I want you, how much I need you –"

"And yet you push me away. Again." Her tone is cool, almost neutral, as if all that didn't have anything to do with her. That only makes it worse.

"Don't you see, Luna, that it would never work? I mean, _God_, I've lived on the streets for four years. And look at you." I point a shaking forefinger at her. "You're – everything. Successful, famous, popular, _breathtakingly beautiful_. Can't you see where I'm going?"

"No," she just says, and that does it for me. I jump up from the bed, still naked, and stare at her accusingly.

"You're too good for me!" I almost shout at her. She shrinks back slightly, but quickly recovers herself.

"Bloody fucking hell, you've been to dinners with the fucking _Minister of Magic_, if you can trust the _Prophet_ at all. I've shared my food with rats! Is this honestly what you want? Just – just look at me!" I try a little pirouette to prove my point. Unfortunately, I'm still drunk and crash to the floor in a not exactly elegant way.

Embarrassed, I get up again. "See what I mean?" I exclaim, pointing at myself. "I'm drunk. I stink. I steal. I talk to snowmen. Luna, please, don't waste your energy and your life on a helpless case like me."

What I'm saying hurts me – it hurts me so much, I want to cry out in pain and clutch my chest. I know I'm ruining both her life and mine. It's like I'm turning a knife around in an already hurting, bleeding wound. But I can't do anything else. I know that I'm right about this.

"Luna, I'm a loser. I've always been, and I always will be. I've never managed anything properly in my life. I just suck, and not in a good way. You're too good for me. There must be tons of young men wanting to go out with you. Take one of them, take them all, for all I care, and found your family with them. Not with me. Not with a loser."

Feeling exhausted and five thousand kinds of lonely, I sit down on the corner of her bed and stare at my blank feet. My toes are ugly, I notice.

It's quiet for a while. Then Luna speaks up. "Yes, Neville, you're a loser."

I whirl round and stare at her. I'm slightly unbalanced, but don't fall this time. This is not what I expected her to say.

"If that's all you have to say on the topic, then yes, you're a loser. And a huge one, at that. Do you give up, just like that?" Luna stares at me intently. She has that look she always gets when she's trying to get a message across. "Do you think that's all there is to life? Begging in the streets? Don't you have any faith in yourself _at all_? You have so much potential, Neville, you could make so much of your life, if only you'd see what talents you have." She makes to grab my hand, but jerks back, only inches before her skin would touch mine.

I swallow dryly. Has it come so far that she won't even touch me anymore?

"Neville. I'm serious. Just because a closed-minded old hag told you you're a loser doesn't mean you are." She quiets my protests with one hand. "You've believed in this nonsense for too long. You're gifted, and you bloody well know it. It's just too practical an answer to all the uncomfortable questions, isn't it? 'Why don't you get a job?' – 'I'm a loser, nobody will take me anyway.' Well, if you don't try, of course nobody will take you!"

I let myself fall back on the bed, too tired to say anything. She has no idea what she's talking about. She's never been Neville Longbottom. She doesn't know what it's like to be me. What it's like to be a loser.

"Give up, Luna," I say tiredly, "you know the truth as well as I do. I _am_ a loser, and that's it. Maybe you see me more positively than you should, because you still – uh – have feelings for me –"

"My feelings have _nothing_ to do with this _at all_, so please _do_ leave them out of it."

I raise my hands defiantly. "Fine, fine. It's okay. I'll just pack my things now and leave. – You know, when you were there in the bathroom, I was lying on the bed, thinking, 'I still don't know what to do with my life. But hey, "father of Luna Lovegood's babies" sounds pretty good to me for the time being.' But, you know, that's just not it. I couldn't stand it if you had sex with me and stayed with me out of pity. And that's just what you're doing. You pitied me when you saw me there in the street, and wanted to help me. And really, I can do without that. I appreciate the gesture, truly, but I couldn't live with that."

Her eyes are shining. With tears, I fear. It occurs to me that probably I'm not drunk enough to be able to handle this situation properly. Swaying only slightly, I get up and collect my clothes from the floor.

In silence, I dress. Luna's sitting on the bed, staring hard at the blankets, not moving at all. When I've put on my boots, she finally lifts her head. I can see two wet streaks on her cheeks. I automatically reach out to her, but she slaps my hand away.

"No," she says, dangerously quiet. "No, Neville, you will not touch me. Not now, and not ever. You just don't want to see. Fine. If that's what you want, well, good luck, out there in the streets." She looks at me coolly. "I heard it's going to be icy the next weeks. Well, I'll be thinking of you when I'm lying in my warm, cosy bed."

She's still naked, and I can't speak, I can only stare at her, trying to remember her, her beauty, every tiny little detail about her.

"Go now," she says, and I can't hear even the slightest trace of regret in her voice. I hesitate, but she doesn't seem to be inclined to wait any longer, so I carefully step away from her, towards the door.

"Good bye, Luna," I say, and then, quietly, the ancient blessing. "Be blessed by the moon and the stars in the sky. May Fate and Destiny guide you on your way through life, and may nothing ever harm you. May you and your family be protected throughout time. I will pray for you to the Ancients for your well-being.

"Farewell," I add and open the door. "I love you," but she didn't hear that because I spoke too quietly. I close the door behind me.

I'm standing in the icy corridor and my heart's bleeding. _I will never forget you, Luna Lovegood_, I think to myself, _and I will always, always love you._

I turn to stare at the closed door. A little sign besides it reads "L. Lovegood".

"Well, Longbottom," I say, "if you ever wanted a second chance – that was it." Slowly, I turn and walk away, back to the streets and the dirt.


End file.
